


every town was Paris (every day was Sunday)

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Budapest, F/M, I wish one of them would say something, Melancholy, Pining, Unresolved Emotional Tension, nothing happens, partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25747633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: They're on a mission in Budapest. Nothing happens.This is just a sentimental fic featuring yearning and pining and looking at each other.
Relationships: Phil Coulson/Skye | Daisy Johnson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13
Collections: Listen to my voice I'll guide us through the dark





	every town was Paris (every day was Sunday)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts), [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts), [BrilliantlyHorrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/gifts), [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts), [AvatarQuake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarQuake/gifts), [notcaycepollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/gifts), [tqpannie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tqpannie/gifts), [Persiflage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/gifts).



They’ll always have Budapest.  
They’ll always have _that tram ride_ in Budapest.

It has to do something with one of Natasha’s missions from like a decade ago, that’s about as much as Daisy knows about the political background. And she doesn’t strive to know more about that – not when the current government has been even more vile concerning Inhuman matters than the U.S. government, which is ... quite the achievement. And she doesn’t need to care. This is just a simple extraction, requiring her powers, and she’s got Coulson with her. Clarification: She’s requested Coulson. Turns out he’d already requested to accompany her to Hungary before she handed in her form.

It’s all good, they’re almost done. One more day, then they’ll be out of here, to Bucarest, then Iaşi by train. Coulson promises there will be incredible landscapes on the way. It makes her smile, the way he always wants to share everything with her. These days, she struggles to define their relationship when asked by others. They’re co-workers, part of the same team, occasional sparring partners; they’re neither friends nor lovers. 

But still, Coulson keeps turning to her every now and then, carefully pointing out one pretty thing or another to her as they ride across the city. The tramway crosses the Danube to Buda, and Daisy briefly forgets to breathe as Coulson points to the beautifully lit Gellért hotel. He tells her something about the glorious jazz orchestras that used to play here in the 1920s, because of course that’s the sort of thing he knows. She realizes she’s smiling again. 

As they get off the wagon, Daisy almost slips on its metal steps. Coulson grabs her hand without even having to look, instantly steadying her. She looks at him, about to say thank you, as he turns at her to smile, and she understands that she doesn’t have to say anything. He doesn’t let go of her hand as they walk down the street, turn the corner, enter their hotel, take the elevator upstairs. Daisy doesn’t even need to let go to find her key card, she’s been keeping it in her pocket. Same for Coulson; she sees the card’s outlines through the breast pocket of his shirt. It’s a relief.

They arrive in front of their rooms still holding hands, slowly approaching the neighbouring doors. For a moment, they stop, looking at each other. Neither of them is smiling, at least not on the outside. Daisy thinks she’s never felt this peaceful, probably; they aren’t moving, they aren’t speaking, and yet, she feels nothing but calm and safe. Judging by the kindness in Coulson’s eyes, he feels the same. It makes her want to smile, but she doesn’t, not until he does. He squeezes her fingers, then slowly lets go.

„Sleep well, Daisy,“ he says, and with such warmth that if she didn’t feel so comforted by his presence, this warmth might make Daisy cry. Instead, she smiles back. „You too,“ she says, „Phil“. As she says his first name, there’s almost a nod, he almost says something, but doesn’t. Daisy wishes he would. She wishes _she_ would. But he’s already swiped his card, entered his room. She doesn’t move. As Coulson is about to close his door, he realizes she’s still looking at him, slows down. 

He smiles at her again, but this time, it’s different. It looks like a realization, but Daisy thinks she might actually be the one who just realized something. Again, she smiles back, lifts her hand, almost waves; then he’s gone.

Slowly, very slowly, she swipes her own card, closes the door, lets her jacket slide down and fall onto the floor. Maybe she should knock. Maybe _he_ should knock. She doesn’t think she’ll sleep tonight; if she closes her eyes, his face is still so close, like before when they were walking here from the tram stop. 

Maybe Daisy will knock later. Or in the morning. Maybe she won’t. Maybe they won’t speak on the ride to the Moldavian border tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter. They don’t need to. They are neither friends, nor lovers. But they will always have Budapest. They will always have _this_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! ♥  
> Please forgive the typos.
> 
> I am, of course, referencing the line "We'll always have Paris" from Michael Curtis' "Casablanca". I know this fic isn't as dramatic, but it was meant to be blue and full of unfulfilled things. I haven't really written from Daisy's perspective in a while.
> 
> The title is from "When Joanna Loved Me", sung by Frank Sinatra: 
> 
> _When Joanna loved me  
>  Every town was Paris  
> Every day was Sunday  
> Every month was May._


End file.
